


The Old Wild, Restless Sorrow

by inexplicifics



Series: The Accidental Warlord and His Pack [24]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Memories, Multi, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26570992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexplicifics/pseuds/inexplicifics
Summary: Oliwia's arrival in Kaer Morhen brings up some unpleasant memories for Jaskier.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Aubry (The Witcher)
Series: The Accidental Warlord and His Pack [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683661
Comments: 123
Kudos: 2347





	The Old Wild, Restless Sorrow

Jaskier leaves Oliwia in Milena’s capable hands, and retreats back to his own rooms at a pace just barely slow enough to keep from worrying the servants he passes. The Witchers, of course, can smell his turmoil, and Jaskier is fairly sure Aubry is the only thing keeping every Witcher they pass from stopping to see if he’s alright.

He isn’t.

He makes it in through the door of his own rooms, makes it all the way to the big bearskin rug in front of the hearth, before he collapses.

Fuck, he thought he was _done_ with this. Thought the memories had faded, had been washed away by Geralt’s golden eyes, Eskel’s broad warm hands, Aubry’s steady presence. Thought he had forgotten the terror of the moment he first stood before Geralt, a tribute - a _sacrifice_ \- sent into the very mouth of the Wolf.

Oliwia brought it all back, Oliwia on her knees with her hands outstretched, begging for sanctuary, reeking of fear so strongly that even Jaskier’s human nose could almost smell it. Little Oliwia, who was almost sacrificed to a monster far worse than any Witcher could ever be, and who has come into the Wolf’s jaws on nothing but the thinnest thread of hope, nothing but Jaskier’s own tales and Milena’s letters to give her faith that she will not be devoured - or worse, turned away.

And of course she wasn’t, of course Geralt has taken her in - he could hardly do otherwise, not Jaskier’s Geralt, not his golden-eyed, golden-souled beloved - but oh _gods_ , the memories she has brought with her, of the most terrible moment in all Jaskier’s life thus far, matched only by the horror of seeing Geralt fall.

Aubry kneels down beside him and wraps Jaskier up in his arms, and Jaskier realizes he’s keening, a thin horrible noise that rises inexorably from his throat; he cannot stop, cannot stop _shaking_ , cannot keep his breath from coming harsh and far too fast, and the fire in front of him seems to be at the end of a very long tunnel, darkness leaching into his sight as his heart beats so hard he can feel it in his throat.

The door opens, and Aubry raises his head and says something, a deep rumble that Jaskier just can’t parse at the moment, and then there are more arms around him, arms Jaskier would know blind drunk, dead asleep, _unconscious_. “Little lark,” Geralt murmurs in one ear, and, “Catmint,” Eskel whispers in the other, and Jaskier shakes apart between them, keening and clawing at his own knees until they interpose their hands and let him dig his nails in hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to hurt even Witchers. They hold him tight, tight enough that even in the depths of his own shaking madness he can feel the strength of them, and he clings and keens and _shakes_ until finally, blessedly, his sight goes fully dark, and all he knows is that he is held tight, tight, tight, and safe.

*

Eskel and Geralt exchange a glance over their lover’s head as Jaskier finally stops the high, horrid _keening_ sound he’s been making for the last half a glass and goes limp in their arms.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Geralt says quietly.

“Not sure,” Eskel replies, “but I don’t like it. Aubry?”

Aubry kneels down beside them with a damp cloth in his hands, and carefully wipes the blood from Jaskier’s nails and Geralt and Eskel’s arms. “No idea,” he says gruffly. “He was smelling godsawful when he came out of the council room. Left the lass with Milena and came here and -” he gestures awkwardly. “This.”

“Thank you for sending for us,” Eskel says softly, brushing a kiss against Jaskier’s hair.

Aubry nods and retreats outside the door, taking up his usual guard position. Geralt and Eskel between them get Jaskier laid down on the bearskin rug and drape themselves over him, since he seems calmest when he’s pinned by their weight, arms about his waist, heads tucked into the curve of his throat where they can smell his sweat and the slow ebbing of the dreadful, sharply bitter fear the girl woke in him.

“Ideas?” Geralt asks after a long moment.

“None,” Eskel says grimly. “He _did_ want us to keep Oliwia, I’m quite sure of it.”

“So’m I,” Geralt says.

Slowly, the bitter fear-scent ebbs, and Jaskier’s heart slows to something more normal for a human, and his breathing evens out. “Lark?” Geralt murmurs.

“My wolves,” Jaskier says, a little hoarsely.

“We have you,” Eskel says. “You alright?”

“Getting there,” Jaskier manages. “Don’t - don’t let go?”

“Never,” Geralt pledges, and shifts even closer. So does Eskel. Jaskier must be half-squashed between them, but he sighs in relief and relaxes against the bearskin rug.

Finally all the fear-scent is gone, and Jaskier heaves a sigh that seems to come from the depths of his soul and turns his head to press a kiss first to Geralt’s hair, then to Eskel’s. “Thank you, my loves.”

“Catmint, what _happened_?” Eskel asks plaintively.

Jaskier shivers a little. “It just - reminded me,” he says slowly. “Of coming here. Of how afraid I was.”

“Fuck,” Geralt says succinctly. Eskel has to agree.

“I hate that - that _anyone_ has to be that scared,” Jaskier says haltingly. “That there are still monsters in the world that would devour girls like Oliwia - boys like I was. And it just...hit me all at once, I guess. All those memories. _Fuck_ Duke Velen,” he adds with uncharacteristic vitriol. “And fuck King Vizimir, too for letting him keep _doing_ this!”

Geralt shoots Eskel a rather startled look, and Eskel attempts to shrug using only his face. _He's_ seen Jaskier feral before, but Geralt was unconscious at the time.

“If he's letting Velen pull this shit again, he's probably breaking the treaty in other ways, too,” Eskel says thoughtfully. “Tell you what. We'll set Liliana and Treyse on it. See what they can learn _outside_ the Wolf's lands. And if Vizimir _is_ breaking the treaty...then I guess Geralt gets to finish conquering Redania.”

“ _Hm_ ,” Geralt says grumpily, but he doesn't disagree.

“If he is breaking the treaty,” Jaskier says softly, “if he’s gone back to - to giving innocents away as _sacrifices_ \- please. Please kill him.”

Geralt hums again, and lifts his head to meet Jaskier’s eyes. “I will,” he says softly. “I kill monsters, little lark.”

“Yes,” Jaskier breathes, and cranes his head for a kiss that Geralt gladly provides. And thank fuck, the scent of love and lust and happiness that _usually_ surrounds Jaskier like the best sort of aura is strengthening again. Eskel heaves a tiny, heartfelt sigh and tucks his nose more securely into the crook of Jaskier’s throat, breathing in the smell of honey and warm bread in immense relief.

“Alright,” Jaskier says at last. “Well then. Let us go and set Treyse and Liliana on the hunt.”

Eskel stands and offers his hand, pulling Jaskier to his feet. Geralt rolls to his own feet, bracketing Jaskier between them, and Jaskier chuckles and reaches up to cup Eskel’s scarred cheek and press a chaste, tender kiss to his lips.

“You realize,” Eskel says quietly as they head down the corridor, Aubry falling in behind them, “that we’re not going to let you out of our sight for the rest of the day, catmint.”

Geralt hums agreement, one arm looped around Jaskier’s waist to keep him close.

Jaskier smiles a little ruefully. “My sunlit wolf, I am not going to complain about that.”

Eskel can feel his ears heat, but he loops his own arm around Jaskier’s waist, too, knuckles brushing against Geralt’s side, and Geralt smiles at him over Jaskier’s head, the scent of their relief mingling pleasantly with Jaskier’s honey-sweet love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for your comments, kudos, and support; it means the world to me. Please come say hello on tumblr (inexplicifics), where I answer many questions about this AU, or discord (inexplicifics#2690).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Old Wild, Restless Sorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651653) by [AceOfTigers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOfTigers/pseuds/AceOfTigers)




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